


Chemistry, Coffee, and Cheekbones

by 1BloggerandSociopathX1



Category: Sherlock (TV), johnlock - Fandom
Genre: Addiction, Car Accidents, College AU, Depression, Drinking, Eventual Johnlock, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Minor Character Death, Past Drug Use, Reichenbach University, Teenlock, Therapists, Uni!lock, University AU, mentions of depression, present drug use, this should be fun
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-09
Updated: 2015-06-15
Packaged: 2018-04-03 16:29:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4107514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1BloggerandSociopathX1/pseuds/1BloggerandSociopathX1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson was a creature of habit for his own good, but when his rugby mate Mike Stanford introduced him to the brilliant Sherlock Holmes from his chemistry class who needed a dorm mate, all schedules were thrown into the wind along with any hopes of John being the least bit straight. Between classes, rugby games, projects, diplomas, and the future to think about, will two unlikely friends be able to focus long enough to see that they share something more than a dorm?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Creature of Habit

John Watson was a creature of habit for his own good. When he didn't have a schedule, he got reckless. When he didn't stick to a schedule, he was late to rugby matches and exams. More than being late, John found early on in life that if he didn't keep up the same pattern of events on a day to day basis, his hobbies would waver as well as his focus. In high school John was a free spirit, roaming aimlessly, going to parties, sleeping around, drinking all the time, and having no clear goal. He had no need to find a goal. He had created a plan for himself after his father died in a car accident and his mother began drinking more than the occasional beer. He was going to go into the military after high school to avoid paying for a college admission- which was really out of the question given their financial status.

This plan suited John just fine, as being a doctor was out of the question without going to some big expensive school, and because he was helplessly devoted to his Queen and Country. That is, until in his eleventh year of high school when his rugby coach, Coach Doyle, said he had the opportunity for a scholarship if he worked hard to get his grades up. Suddenly, John had something to shoot for that was attainable and didn’t revolve solely around finance. He worked extremely hard for the last few years of high school to get sober and improve his grades. When the acceptance letter came from Reichenbach University, he packed his bags and left his mum and sister. He would have had a heavier heart about leaving the two most important women in his life in such a state of drunkenness, but he had told them to shape up before he left and they didn't listen. He knew it was selfish and he hated himself for it, but he needed to get away from them. He had to think about himself and his future. He figured he would come back on holiday and straighten up their drinking habits for good, but now he needed to focus. To focus, he needed to keep his head down and keep improving at rugby and in his classes. To focus, he needed to remain a creature of habit, no matter how boring it was.

John always had the same coffee- black with two sugars- every morning during his chemistry lecture, as eight in the morning was far too early for any sane person to actually be awake. John also always sat in the same seat- in the back row near the door- next to a tall, quiet boy who only spoke when correcting the teacher. John had always had the same dorm on campus- a tiny little apartment with dull lighting and poor internet connection- even after his roommate had decided to quit school to go to the army after money became a bit tight. So, when his rugby mate Mike Stanford interrupted his scheduled mid-afternoon walk in the grassy area where most students fooled around or studied under the trees, John put on a fake smile. John always took this walk as to help the cramp he got in his leg from time to time. He usually took this walk alone though, so when Mike appeared, claiming that they hadn't seen each other much due to the break in the rugby season and that they should catch up, John was more than a bit hesitant.

Eventually the two found themselves seated at a bench near the lunch hall, the cool afternoon breeze of late autumn making the shorter of the two wish he had brought a jacket.

 He was about to excuse himself from the conversation when Mike abruptly asked, “Did you ever find another dorm mate? I remember you asking around at practice for a while when Marcus ran off to get shot at.”

John didn’t appreciate the phrasing Mike used, as he had considered the military for years and was somewhat close to Marcus, but didn't comment on it. He shook his head, saying simply, “Gave up after a while. Who would want me as a dorm mate anyways?” He almost changed the subject, but then he looked over and saw Mike grinning at him. John raised an eyebrow, smiling hesitantly as he wasn't sure why Mike was so happy about him not having a dorm mate.

Mike continued to grin before saying simply, “Funny, you're the second person to have said that to me today.”

John tilted his head to the side, somewhat interested in the conversation now that it was changed to something other than useless chatter about failed dates and projects, “Who was the first?”


	2. A Creature With Cheekbones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John finds that the dorm mate Mike suggested wasn't anything he expected- and that his chemistry class might turn out to be a bit more interesting now.

                John Watson was not gay. He knew this, he was certain of it. He found women extremely attractive and had been with more than a few girls in his time. This however did not mean that he wasn’t bi. Which he was. He had been sure of that for a long time, but he grew tired of people asking his sexuality if he didn’t plan to have them visit his bed, so he simply said he wasn’t gay. Which was true, but he never clarified further. It actually annoyed him how, because of this, everyone assumed he was straight. He didn’t care what they thought though, as the people who thought he was gay or straight almost never got to see him in bed. So, when Mike took him up to one of the old chemistry labs to meet this new roommate and he saw that it was the same boy he had drooled over in his chemistry lecture every day, he was extremely hopeful. He covered beautifully though, looking around the lab instead of at the taller boy’s small frame and incredible features.

                John had looked at the boy as he bad mouthed the professor enough to know he was a masterpiece. He had porcelain skin that seemed almost impossible and untouchable. It reminded him of the cream in coffee or the bright, white moon against the dark night sky. The contrast that supplied the metaphor for the dark sky was the boy’s ridiculous hair. The dark black curls went up in every direction imaginable and was incredibly soft, although John had always assumed that by the look of each lock of hair. It sat in an uncombed mop on the top of his head that John had to resist carding his fingers through every morning when he walked by him on his way to his seat. The height of the boy was another thing entirely. He was a tree compared to John, but of course, John was short and stoutly built so that wasn’t much of an accomplishment. In actuality, the boy wasn’t all that tall, but it was just how held himself. His nose high in the air and looking down at people even if they were taller than him made him seem tall, which should have looked silly or even crazy but on him it just _worked._ Crazy worked on Sherlock Holmes.

                The boy looked over at John from where he sat at one of the university’s compound microscopes and the shorter boy could have sworn his heart stopped beating for a moment. They stared at each other for a long moment before the dark haired wonder looked back at his microscope, his interest obviously unmoved from the specimen he was looking at under the lens.

                John, thankfully, could breathe again once the other looked away and after a moment Mike cleared his throat to get the boy’s attention, gesturing to John, “ _This_ is John Watson.”

               Sherlock seemed to regard John for a brief moment before asking Mike, “Can I use your phone? Mine isn’t getting any signal in here.” John raised an eyebrow to Mike at Sherlock’s response, or lack thereof, but it seemed to have no effect on Mike.

               Mike shook his head, replying, “Sorry, mine’s dead.”

               Sherlock seemed extremely put out with this response but before he could complain John spoke up, wanting to get on the other’s good side as he pulled out his own mobile, “Here, use mine.”

               Sherlock raised an eyebrow but took the phone with a quick, “Thank you.” Not a moment later he asked, “Afghanistan or Iraq?”

               John furrowed his eyebrows and glanced to Mike before looking to Sherlock again, “Pardon?”

              Sherlock didn’t look up from where he was typing on the phone and asked again, “Where was father your stationed? Afghanistan or Iraq?”

              John blinked once and answered in a confused tone, “Afghanistan…how did you-“

              He was cut off by the boy handing his phone back to him, asking, “I assume you’ll be moving in soon. You might want to come see the dorm before bringing your stuff over, of course.” He got up from where he sat in front of the microscope and started to put on his coat as John stood frozen like a deer in the headlights.

            Sherlock walked past him and started towards the door when John whipped around, calling after him, “Hold on, what makes you think I want to dorm with you? We just met! We don’t know a thing about each other.” Sherlock stopped where he stood beside the partially opened door, glancing at John briefly.

            He stood silent for a brief moment before saying quickly, “I know you want to share a dorm because Mike was just talking to me earlier and I said no one would want to share a dorm with me, and suddenly in walks a stranger who is obviously trying to get out of depression and needs someone to watch him, possibly to ensure he doesn’t relapse into drinking again. I know you’re the Captain of the rugby team and have been playing for several years. I know your father was in the military but died at home in a crash that involved you directly. I know you’re here on scholarship and have an alcoholic brother and mother at home. I also know that you are aspiring to be a doctor despite the possibility of following your father’s footsteps in the military.”

           If John thought he was in over his head before, nothing could have prepared him for that. He stood staring blankly at Sherlock, blinking repetitively as he processed everything the boy seemed to have pulled out of thin air.

          Sherlock seemed pleased with his reaction and started out the door, but reappeared quickly to say, “The name is Sherlock Holmes and the dorm is room two hundred and twenty one in the B building.” Then he was gone, the door slamming behind him as the mysterious boy disappeared.

          John stood staring at the door, wondering if it was going to swing open and if another thing would fall from those cupid bow lips.

          Instead he heard Mike say from somewhere in the room fondly, “Yeah, he’s always like that.”

          John pursed his lips in thought at his words. Part of him knew he probably shouldn’t be intrigued by the boy. That same part of him thought the boy was posh, rude, and arrogant. But, he found that the part of him that thought those things was drowned out by pure astonishment. He was bewildered by Sherlock Holmes and his low voice, expensive coat, and his cheekbones.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woah, I just posted this a few hours ago and got such a good response that I decided to write another chapter! Thanks so much and be sure to comment with any suggestions you may have. Don't be shy!


	3. A Creature With A Chemistry Set

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John talked to himself a lot. It was a good way for him to calm himself down and go through his mental checklist. So, as he walked across the campus after dinner that night, he muttered to himself, “You’re absolutely insane.” He checked the building to assure it was building B in the dim light and continued saying, “You don’t even need a dorm mate.” And this was true. He didn’t actually need a dorm mate. Plenty of students lived alone on or off campus, and his dorm was included in the scholarship the school offered him. So why he was climbing the steps to the second floor of building B to look into moving in with some mysterious bloke from his chemistry class was beyond him. He told himself that he was just curious and that was it. That he just wanted to know the boy better and possibly ask him out for coffee.

         John talked to himself a lot. It was a good way for him to calm himself down and go through his mental checklist. So, as he walked across the campus after dinner that night, he muttered to himself, “You’re absolutely insane.” He checked the building to assure it was building B in the dim light and continued saying, “You don’t even need a dorm mate.” And this was true. He didn’t actually need a dorm mate. Plenty of students lived alone on or off campus, and his dorm was included in the scholarship the school offered him. So why he was climbing the steps to the second floor of building B to look into moving in with some mysterious bloke from his chemistry class was beyond him. He told himself that he was just curious and that was it. That he just wanted to know the boy better and possibly ask him out for coffee. But that wasn’t entirely it. John had never lived alone before, and he found that it wasn’t as fun as everyone made it out to be.

         John had always had a lot of people around him. He was a social butterfly and never really had a problem with making friends. If he just had a few hours alone every once in a while to read or write, he was happy. He had always convinced himself that he wasn’t ever depressed- and he was never alone long enough to think much about it. When his father died, everyone worried endlessly about him. Not because he was extremely close to his dad or anything, but because he was in the car with him.

        The summer before his tenth year of secondary school, when John had just turned fourteen, he was sitting in the passenger’s seat when his dad cut a corner around a bush, not seeing the large semi-truck that was stopped on the one way road. The truck driver had stopped the car and pulled it over to the side after he got a flat tire. In court it was decided the driver of the semi wasn't guilty, because he was off the road to the best of his ability, and John’s father had turned too quickly and didn’t go around. Not to mention that his father constantly had a beer bottle in his hand, and that never changed even when he was driving. John had heard the tires squealing and his father curse. He had also felt a whole lot of pain. Their small little car rammed into the back of the semi and his father was killed on impact after not wearing a seatbelt, like John had tried to remind him to wear just minutes before. The windshield crashed and John felt an extreme pain in his left shoulder from the glass piercing his skin. Oddly enough, that was the only real injury he had gotten from the accident. Well, _real_ being the blanket term. Real as in, the only actual injury in which skin, muscle, or bone broke or was torn. In the ambulance on the way to the hospital, however, he kept telling them to look at his leg, that he couldn’t lose his leg, and that it hurt like hell. It wasn’t until he woke up in the recovery room did a doctor tell him that he didn’t have any physical injuries with his leg, and that the only thing concerning it was that his late father’s body had fallen on top of it moments after the impact. The doctor suggested he go to a therapist regularly after his shoulder healed, and all throughout high school he did.

       Every Thursday after school instead of taking the bus home or going to rugby for warm ups, he would spend a half hour talking to a government paid therapist who always had a coffee stain on her shirt and a far too wide smile, in John’s opinion. This was the same therapist that suggested he keep to a tight schedule, go on walks, and write down everything that happened to him after telling him that he was _depressed._ Which made absolutely no sense to John because he felt fine. Well, the few weeks after the funeral were hard, but that was expected and soon enough he still felt better. He had friends and he went to parties. He drank and laughed and didn’t mope around feeling sorry for himself. The therapist then explained that he might not think he was sad, but if he wasn’t depressed then why did he have a psychotic limp? A limp on the leg that his father's body's full weight had rested until the ambulance came. He didn’t know why he had the limp. His therapist tried to explain that it could be his subconscious bearing the weight of the aftermath of the crash that he wouldn't face, but John really didn't care to listen to that. He didn't need to face these nonexistent problems. He really wasn't trying to push any emotion concerning his father's death away, and he really wasn't all that close to him due to his deployment for the military throughout most of his childhood, but when John tried to explain this the lady would shake her head and ask him to look up the word _denial_ in the dictionary. The odd thing about the limp was that it didn't hurt enough to stop him from playing rugby. Actually, when he was playing rugby it went away. When John went mountain climbing with his mates it went away. When he was just sitting in class listening to lectures it stayed though. The therapist said that it was when his brain wasn't being stimulated by adrenaline and it was just another way for him to avoid his problems. He never really understood that and thought the lady was complicating things. In his last meeting before he went off to college, this therapist told him to surround himself with friends and to write when he was alone instead of thinking. He promised he would and left the high school for more, better opportunities.

     John did not keep his promise at all. He tried to at first, he really did, but the writing was the most difficult part. He wanted to write something great, something someone would _want_ to read, but there was one problem: nothing ever happened to him. Sure, he wrote a page or two about rugby tryouts and becoming captain. He even wrote about some of his dates gone wrong or when his friend’s car broke down and they had to hitchhike back to the campus at two in the morning. Soon enough though, he found that he was writing more about things that happened to other people whom he happened to be with at the time. He tried to write about things that happened to him, but he found writing an entry about getting an answer right in front of his history class was about as boring to write as it would be to read. He tried to surround himself with people, and he did at first. He went to breakfast in the mornings with his friends, got coffee with them, walked to class with acquaintances, and went to rugby practice. He and his old roommate Marcus got along fine and they had a good arrangement going. But then Marcus dropped out, and rugby ended. He still went to breakfast with his friends, but he got bored with them eventually. His limp became a constant struggle and if it weren’t for his social image, he probably would have looked into getting a cane or something to help.

     So, after living for about a month on his own and feeling sadder and sadder, he decided that he should have listened to his therapist. He needed a roommate. He didn’t need someone to make sure he didn’t stick a gun in his mouth- he just needed _someone._ They didn’t even need to be friends, really, even though he hoped they would be. He didn’t need a significant other or best buddy to talk late into the night with and share secrets. He just needed someone to be with and be certain of their presence in the night. He’d always been with at least one other person and he never thought he’d really be in the position where he wasn’t. His plan was to get a dorm mate, then graduate and possibly share a flat with his dorm mate, then get married to someone and live with them. The possibility of living alone never occurred to him. Even though rugby would be starting up soon, because it wasn’t too hot anymore for practice, he still wanted a roommate. He had a feeling that rugby wouldn’t be enough and he really couldn’t risk getting too lonely to resort back to alcohol, as he had in high school. He had to stay away from that. He knew it could become an addiction very easily given his and his family’s history.

     The terrifying prospect of living alone for the rest of university was what brought John Watson to knock on the door of room two hundred and twenty one of building B on a particularly windy night in late autumn. Just as he knocked on the dark colored door, he heard a commotion coming from the end of the hall. He furrowed his eyebrows and just as he was about to start down the hallway to see what was going on, a tall figure turned the corner and bolted towards the room. John backed up so he wasn’t blocking the taller boy’s way, awkwardly standing there as the other pulled out his key and quickly tried to open the door.

     Sherlock kept looking over his shoulder to where he had come from down the hall, smirking. John cleared his throat, “Um, if you’re busy I can come ba-“

     He was cut off by a loud shout from down the hall, “Freak! Get back here!” John opened his mouth to say something to Sherlock, but he was already rushing through the door. He slammed the door closed and John stood outside of it for a moment, debating whether or not to leave. Just as he raised his hand to knock again, the door opened and a cold, somewhat sweaty hand grabbed his forearm. John was tugged inside the flat just before Sherlock used his other hand to close the door, locking it as angry footsteps got closer and closer to the dorm. Sherlock released John’s arm and pressed his back against the door, catching his breath apparently. John gave him a moment to himself, not wanting to pry right away.

     He looked around the messy dorm, noting that there were two beds, a couch, two chairs, two desks that the other had conjoined to make one big table, and a bathroom. It seemed suitable enough, not exactly tiny, just cozy. It would work for him, at least. He turned back to Sherlock, who hadn’t moved until the frantic knocking on the door stopped and whoever was yelling at him stomped away. The boy stared at John for a brief moment, in which John felt like a museum piece on display, before stepping away from the door and taking off his long coat.

     John opened his mouth to ask why the student was chasing him and trying to get in the dorm, but he was cut off again by a low, monotone voice, “I play the violin when I think and don’t eat for days on end.”

    John blinked and furrowed his eyebrows, obviously confused about what Sherlock was talking about before Sherlock explained, “Just thought potential dorm mates should know the worst about each other.”

    John slowly nodded before looking to the door, then back to Sherlock, obviously trying not to be rude but his curiosity getting the best of him, “Right, right, well you should eat. It’s not healthy not to.”

   Sherlock made a snorting noise that showed he didn’t take John seriously, but John ignored it, now gesturing to the door, “What was all that about?”

   John watched as Sherlock sighed, sitting down in the black leather chair in the room before explaining, “It was just an experiment. You miscalculate the amount of explosive powder in a bomb _one time_ and-"

   Now it was John’s turn to interrupt. John put his hands up to stop Sherlock from talking, asking urgently, “You set off a _bomb?_ ” He started to wonder just how insane his possible new roommate was.

   Sherlock waved his hand to dismiss John’s comment, “It was a _stink_ bomb. I’m not stupid, I’m not going to set off a bomb indoors, Watson.” John noted how Sherlock probably thought it was perfectly acceptable to set off a bomb outdoors. He also noted how part of him really, really wanted to see if Sherlock actually could, or would, set off a bomb outside. He also tried not to note the feeling he got when he realized Sherlock had remembered his name after only hearing it once.

   After giving John an elegant eye roll that John decided to ignore, Sherlock continued, “Anyways, I set off a stink bomb in the community loo. Honestly I think the community loo is completely useless as every dorm has its own restroom.” He paused before continuing, seeming to guess John’s next question, “I did it with my chemistry set. Don’t ask about that, it’ll just confuse you.”

   John nodded and oddly enough didn’t feel offended by that last part.  Sherlock made that John didn’t understand chemistry seem like a fact more than a problem that he faced. John tried to keep up with all of this as he cautiously sat down across from him in the red chair, “So, why did you set it off in the first place?”

  “I was _trying_ to see if I could possibly prolong the effects of the stink bomb, just to see if over time everyone assumed it to be a normal smell or whether anyone could tell it was something stronger. I was just bored.” He shrugged before adding, “I wasn’t aware that someone would walk in this late at night, but after a snogging session with his roommate’s girlfriend, I assume he would have wanted to freshen up.”

  John stared at Sherlock, tilting his head to the side, “You did that thing again.”

  Sherlock seemed equally confused and blinked, “What thing?”

  John articulately waved his hand in Sherlock’s direction, as though that would help explain what he was talking about, “That thing you did to me in the chemistry lab. How you can just…know stuff.”

  John wasn’t sure if he imagined the twinkle in Sherlock’s eyes at his comment or not, but he quickly forgot about it when Sherlock leaned forward in his chair, looking at John intensely, “I don’t _know,_ I observe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the feedback everybody! Your comments and kudos make me smile! <3 In this chapter you got to find out a bit more about John's limp and depression. I tried to make it so even John wasn't aware he had depression and thought everything was okay, because that's how depression is sometimes. I didn't want to write John as going through a really hard time with battling depression after his father died, because I don't think John would really do that. My portrayal of him is going to almost like he's pushing everything aside. I sort of based how he felt (thinking everything's okay, trying to stay active and focused) on my own experiences and how I've dealt with hard times. This is in no way something to base battling depression on however, because every case is different. I wasn't sure how to work the limp in, so I went with more of an emotional approach that was connected with his leg. With his dad's body collapsed against him until the paramedics arrived, I thought it would explain why the limp was in his leg instead of somewhere else (like a cramp in his arm for example). He would have the weight of his dad's death literally with him all the time. For that was a bit of creativity, but hey, that's what stories are for! :D Another thing that sort of evolved as I went was his father's death. Since in the show and the books there is little to no talk of John's family (except for Harry of course), that leaves a lot of possibilities open. The real reason I chose to have John's father die instead of his mother was because there are a lot of fanfictions out there where John's father pressured him into rugby (which is a great headcanon and basis for an AU) and I just wanted my portrayal of John to aspire to succeed in rugby on his own and use it to make a future for himself. I also had John's father an alcoholic as well as his mother and sister (as stated in previous chapters) because I wanted to make it clear that alcoholism runs in his family. I also wanted to show that John is by no means this perfect, can-do-no-wrong character as some make him out to be. He had to go through a long process of getting himself sober throughout high school.  
> Woah that was a longer note than I anticipated! XD Whoops! I just wanted to explain my characterization behind John and my reasoning for writing him the way I did. If you have any suggestions please tell me in the comments and if you liked it leave me some kudos!  
> (BTW Do you guys like how I'm labeling the chapters? "A Creature_____" I'm trying to stay with the theme of C titles to go with the entire work's title "Chemistry, Coffee, and Cheekbones". If you guys think it's lame or like it a lot please tell me in the comments!)


	4. A Creature With A Used Phone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John found his eyes locked with Sherlock’s as he began to explain how normal and stupid people only saw while he observed. They didn’t observe or notice the little things, apparently. Sherlock seemed to be able to see those little things that made up a person. This idea just made John’s curiosity grow. How could someone just see things about people? Little did he know that he was about to find out.

    Sherlock Holmes was by far the most interesting person he ever met. John knew that when he walked up the flight of stairs to the dorm. That was one reason why he came. The other reason, despite needing a dorm mate, being that Sherlock was drop dead _gorgeous._ Even if his words in the chemistry lab didn’t get his attention, he would have come anyways. But Sherlock seemed to be so much more than his looks, which almost all other people couldn’t say. His voice, for example, was low and almost intoxicating. It always had a tone of slight annoyance, as though explaining everything through words was a hassle, and John was really curious to hear it change and morph into something smoother- maybe even a laugh. So, as he sat across from his peculiar boy with high cheekbones and eyes that pierced him to his core, he silently decided that he indeed did need a roommate, and he was indeed going to get one.

    John found his eyes locked with Sherlock’s as he began to explain how _normal_ and _stupid_ people only saw while _he_ observed. They didn’t observe or notice the little things, apparently. Sherlock seemed to be able to see those little things that made up a person. This idea just made John’s curiosity grow. How could someone just _see_ things about people? He thought back to the chemistry lab, how Sherlock had seen his family’s alcoholism, his father’s military service, and his depression after about two minutes of being in the same room. Sherlock eventually stopped explaining the science of what he called, deduction. John didn’t even realize he was still staring until Sherlock raised an eyebrow with a slightly amused expression.

    After a long pause John asked, “So, that’s how you knew about my…” he let out a sound between a cough and a laugh, “life?”

    This question sent Sherlock into another lecture, but during this one his leg didn’t cramp and he didn’t feel the urge to fall asleep. Sherlock tilted his head to the side before speaking, his voice low and alluring and John wondered if Sherlock were possibly a siren in a past life, “Your phone.”

    John furrowed his eyebrows and reached for his phone in his pocket when Sherlock didn’t continue right away. He handed it across the small space between the chairs and Sherlock held it loosely, looking at it as he continued, “Your wallpaper says it all.”

    He held the screen up so John could see the picture of him and his family at the airport with his dad in uniform. John smiled at the memory; it was when his father returned home and they picked him up from the airport. “Military father. I know you only have one parent because you came on scholarship,”

    John opened his mouth to interrupt but Sherlock raised his hand, “I’m getting to that.”

    He leaned back in his chair, continuing about his father, “I assumed it was your father’s death because you don’t seem _too_ depressed, as he wasn’t there most of your childhood. You were in the crash, which explains the psychotic limp. You still play rugby, but when you walk it’s obvious there’s an injury. And right now it isn’t cramping, am I wrong?”

     John shook his head no and Sherlock nodded, looking to the mobile, “Back to the phone, It’s older, a later model. But it’s well used, so you haven’t just not gotten around to getting an upgrade. No, either you don’t have the money to get an upgrade or someone gave it to you. In your case, it’s both. You obviously don’t have a lot of money, just judging by your clothes. Especially your shoes.”

    John looked down to the sneakers on his feet before looking up at Sherlock, allowing him to continue, “They’re extremely worn down. There’s mud stains on the bottom from rugby. And yes, I know about rugby because of how you’re built and that you got in on a scholarship- not academic because I sit beside you in chemistry and I know you aren’t extremely studious.”

    John oddly wasn’t offended by this and Sherlock continued, “So, you’ve kept the shoes over the summer instead of buying new ones. That gives your income status away. The next part’s easy, you know it already.”

    Sherlock flipped the phone over so the engraving _To Harry, With Love, Clara XXX_ was visible. John nodded, the engraving speaking the words Sherlock didn’t have to.

    Sherlock smirked before saying, “So, let’s talk about Harry. Could be an uncle or cousin, but seeing as you got here on scholarship it’s unlikely one of them has the money to afford to give you such a gift. A brother is more likely anyways. Younger, seeing as most older couples would try to stay together after a relationship of at least three months, judging by how worn the phone is.  He obviously gave it to you after he dumped Clara, who gave it to him. If she dumped him he would have kept it. People do that- sentiment- but no, he left her. He wanted it gone. Then there’s the drinking.”

    He couldn’t seem to care that Sherlock thought Harry was his brother, when in reality _Harry_ was short for _Harriet._ It didn’t seem to matter at the moment. What did matter was the absolutely incredible creature in front of him. John looked like a mixture of star struck, confused, amazed, and slightly aroused all at once as he asked, “How the _hell_ did you know about the drinking?”

    Sherlock kept his smirk on his face as he leaned forward, showing where the charger would go into the phone, “Scratch marks on the rim. When he went to plug in his phone at night his hands were shaking, resulting in the marks. You never see a sober man’s phone with those marks, never see a drunks without them.”

    As Sherlock handed the phone back to John he added, "And the depression is obvious because why else would someone given a dorm want to move in with someone else? You're here and you hardly know me, so you're desperate for a distraction. Something to stop you from drinking, as is your family's history. Not to mention the limp. Anyone with a psychotic limp must have some problem."

    Sherlock leaned back in his chair, staring at him with a smug grin, waiting for his reaction. John noticed something dance across the boy’s eyes. Fear? Anticipation? He couldn’t tell. It was like Sherlock’s face was a perfect mask that covered everything except his eyes. John had the odd temptation to find out what was lurking under the surface.

    John sat silently for a moment, debating whether or not to sing the boy’s praises or downplay the down right mind boggling lecture Sherlock just made. He breathed in deeply through his nose, nodding after an incredibly long time, “ _That”_ the same look passed Sherlock’s eyes, “Was amazing.”

    Sherlock furrowed his eyebrows, “Really?” He seemed completely astounded that someone thought this talent was fantastic, and John’s heart broke a little.

    John nodded again to show he was being honest, “Yes. That was quite extraordinary.”

    Sherlock pursed his lips and looked away, saying simply, “That’s not what people normally say.”

    John rose an eyebrow, trying to catch the boy’s gaze again, “What do people normally say?”

    There was a moment’s hesitation before a low voice responded crisply, “ _Piss off_.”

    John smiled stupidly, not being able to stop it from spreading over his features before bursting into giggles. He didn’t know what hit him, but soon enough his giddy chuckle was spreading across the room. His smile grew when he was accompanied by a low snicker that grew into a chuckle as well. It was music to his ears, a symphony of conjoined laughter and John made it a silent challenge to hear it again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had fun with this chapter ^.^ I normally roleplay and write as Sherlock so it was fun being able to put in one of his deductions XD I hope you enjoyed it! I absolutely LOVE the feedback you guys are giving me! Remember to comment to tell me what you thought or any suggestions for what should come next (or in the future) for Sherlock and John! Or just leave kudos, which I love just as much! Thanks!


	5. A Creature With Another Bomb?

Hours later John was preparing to leave Sherlock’s dorm, claiming that he’d come by tomorrow after classes with most of his things. He went to the door and Sherlock stood to see him out, which John wasn’t entirely sure of what to make of. Once Sherlock poked his head out the door in the direction of the community loo explained it. As if Sherlock would be polite enough to walk him to the door. He noted how he already knew that Sherlock wasn’t _that_ polite after about two hours of simple chatting, most of which Sherlock was busy checking his phone, some bubbling substance he had in the bathtub, and complaining. Actually, Sherlock wasn’t polite at all… Oddly enough this didn’t run John off whatsoever. He glanced at Sherlock, then down the hall near the community loo where a cloud of smoke was forming.

John furrowed his eyebrows, licking his bottom lip quickly before looking up to ask Sherlock what they should do- but he was gone. He was running directly down the hall and into the smoke. John stood staring at his retreating form for approximately two seconds before charging after him. As he got closer and closer the smell got worse. He covered his nose with his hand, dodging students that were leaving their dorms in alarm as they smelt and saw the smoke coming from under the door leading to the restroom. He rushed in without hesitation, coughing as the awful stench entering his nose. He wanted to gag, but he held it back, squinting through the smoke to look for Sherlock.

He coughed a few more times before calling out, trying to breathe through his mouth, “Sherlock! What the hell are you-“He stopped mid-sentence when Sherlock appeared beside him.

He startled John at first, but he quickly recovered before saying, “We need to get out of-“ He was cut off again by Sherlock and he made a mental note to tell him later to stop doing that.

Sherlock pulled John’s arm to follow him, saying in a muffled voice from where he had covered his own nose with his hand, “This isn’t mine.” He released John after pulling him towards the showers, where lay a large can with large puffs of smoke coming out from either side.John blinked a few times at Sherlock’s statement, partially because it confused him, and also because the smoke was starting to sting at his eyes.

He turned to look up at Sherlock through the thick smoke, “Then whose is-“ John was cut off again and honestly he wanted to punch a brick wall because he couldn’t get out one bloody sentence. He couldn’t really blame Sherlock though, as what had cut him off was the loud shriek of the fire alarm and flashing white lights as a signal to evacuate the building. Either someone had pulled it after seeing the smoke or fire alarms could pick up on any type of smoke. He found that he didn’t care which it was and was more annoyed it had interrupted him. He went to cover his ears, but his nose required more protection from the smell.

John looked around what he thought was an empty bathroom, exclaiming, “Damn! Sherlock, we need to leave now or-“He stopped himself that time, turning to see that Sherlock was staring at a dark figure in the doorway. John would have said something, had the figure not disappeared, and Sherlock along with it.

Sherlock bolted out of the restroom, going against the flow of students trying to leave the building in their pajamas, as it was pretty late at night and most students were asleep. John ran right after him, excusing himself and Sherlock as his short legs tried to catch up with Sherlock’s long ones. Soon enough, as the building only had three floors, the crowd cleared out and John was able to _almost_ catch up with Sherlock again. He was a few feet behind him though, turning corners just moments after Sherlock had passed them. Sherlock ran up the stairs, following some person who John couldn’t properly see because they were so fast. He couldn’t bring himself to care, either. He was _loving_ this.

His blood was pumping so fast he could feel it in his ears. John’s feet his the ground rhythmically, every corner cut short and every other step skipped as he ran. John absolutely adored this. He didn’t even know who Sherlock was chasing or why exactly, but for some reason being right with him felt right- or right behind him but that wasn’t the point. It also helped that he had a spectacular view of his new dorm mate’s rear from where he ran.

He was pulled from his trance when Sherlock went up a second flight of stairs. He furrowed his eyebrows, realizing that Sherlock was following the person to the roof. Sherlock opened the door leading to the roof and the cold air hit John like a ton of bricks after getting his temperature up from running. John ran after Sherlock onto the roof just as the other boy started looking around for where the person might have gone. John leaned over to catch his breath momentarily but before he really could Sherlock was looking down the side of the building. There was a moment’s hesitation before the taller boy jumped.

John felt his heart sink and he stumbled forward, shouting as he came to the edge, “Sherlock!” As he looked over he saw a fire escape not four feet down next to a window the floor under them.

 John gave a relieved sigh as Sherlock shouted back, already bolting down the rusted old piece of equipment, “Come along John!”

John didn’t need to be told twice. He looked at where he was going to land for a split second before stepping off. It was a wobbly recovery, the old fire escape protesting ever so slightly at all the sudden weight thrust upon it, before John composed himself and he bolted after Sherlock. He slipped on some of the steps but used the railings for support.

When he got to the bottom Sherlock was turning in a circle, looking for where the person went before bolting across the lawn to the student and teacher parking lot. John ran after him, looking to his right to see a massive group of students from the building waiting out in the cold- some in only their pajamas and underwear- and some students leaving their dorm houses to see what the commotion was about. In the distance he heard the faint wailing of a fire engine and a part of him wondered just how much trouble Sherlock would get in if people thought it was his stink bomb. Luckily, none of the other students could see them in the darkness that they had found themselves- the dim street lights of the parking lot not working very well and just giving off a faint, yellow glow- as they chased the person.

The only problem with going to the parking lot, was that some students were starting to get in their cars to drive either further from what they thought was a burning building. John wanted to roll his eyes at their stupidity _sure, save your car why don’t you? Block the way for the fire truck._ But then he remembered it wasn’t a real fire and he calmed himself a bit. Sherlock, however, did not calm himself and started cursing as the moments continued when he couldn’t make out the stranger from other panicked students. John stopped next to him, opening his mouth to say something when Sherlock bolted across the lot to a cab parked near the edge of the lot that must have pulled in from the main road to see the events unfolding at the university. Sherlock abruptly opened the door and the passenger looked shocked and disgusted, as he still smelt like a dumpster from the stink bomb.

John caught up just as the passenger asked, obviously resisting the urge to gag, “Is there a problem?”

Sherlock seemed to think for a brief second before saying, glancing to the building where the fire truck had begun spraying the hose and entering, despite the lack of flames, “I’d say there is. But, well, that’s college for you.” There was a brief pause before he smiled cheekily at the man in the cab, “Welcome to Reichenbach.” Sherlock walked off without another word and John stared after him for a long moment before turning to the car, nodding in some sort of apology/farewell gesture.

Just as John caught up with Sherlock to ask what the hell that was about, a booming voice on a megaphone announced, “Anyone who was on the second floor of this building line up _now._ ” John glanced to Sherlock to see what they should do, but he could already see his retreating form bolting into the shadows of the parking lot. John chuckled lowly before following after him at a steady pace, not looking back as the voice repeated himself over and over again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if there are any grammatical errors or anything in this one! It's currently one in the morning and I was trying to post this before tomorrow, because I'm gonna be busy ^.^


	6. A Creature with Something to Write About

Running behind Sherlock Holmes seemed natural. Certainly not safe by any means, but natural. Like he was in his element. It was different from running in rugby, because he didn’t have to think. He didn’t have to worry about plays or offence or defense or even rules of the game. He just had to worry about not losing sight of the fantastic boy in front of him. John didn’t need to worry about where they were going, because he was sure Sherlock knew the way. Even when they ran down the rusted fire escape he trusted that Sherlock knew what he was doing. Call him an idiot, but John Watson was incredibly loyal, incredibly fast. But he didn’t feel like an idiot for following Sherlock, because it just felt right.

 So, stopping in front of his own dorm felt extremely wrong. Well…not exactly _wrong_ because Sherlock was right next to him. He didn’t even bother asking how Sherlock knew what building his dorm was in, much less the dorm number. They hadn’t stopped running until they stopped in front of the door. The hallway was mostly deserted, except for the occasional student getting up out of bed to see what the commotion was in one of the nearby Dorm Houses.

John slumped against the wall next to his dorm, catching his breath. He tried to ignore the flutter his heart felt when Sherlock leaned against the wall as well, their arms brushing. They were quiet for a few short moments, just catching their breath and trying to figure out just what had happened, before John spoke, still out of breath, “That.” He took another breath, the beginnings of a laugh threatening to pass his lips, “Was the craziest thing, I’ve ever done.”

Sherlock seemed just as out of breath and held his hand to his side with each inhale of oxygen. He licked his lips, the cold fall air had made them dry and John tried so desperately to ignore the smooth action of his pink tongue against his pinker lips. After a moment, in which John was staring at the taller boy, Sherlock smiled, “You need to get out more often.”

This got a chuckle out of John, as it meant that Sherlock did things that were crazier than chasing a stranger across rooftops and down fire escapes on typical Thursday nights. John also might have chuckled because every single thing Sherlock said seemed to be bloody hilarious to him. He was so quick and his humor barely met the qualifications to be funny. Sherlock probably didn’t even think he was funny, John noted. He assumed most people would find him rude and take his comments to heart. But John loved it. It was sarcastic, witty, and some would consider it cold but he just loved it. Everything that seemed to pass through those lips seemed to have some sort of effect on him. Especially the soft chuckle that joined him that came from the gentle, cupid bow lips.

After their snickering calmed down, John looked back up to Sherlock, “Who was that anyways?” He knew it had to be the person who planted the stink bomb, or maybe told someone else to.

Sherlock sighed, pursing his perfect lips in thought before answering stiffly, “No idea,” he seemed annoyed that he didn’t know who it was. “They’re trying to get my attention though.”

John blinked at that answer, obviously confused so Sherlock clarified, “Why else would they use a stink bomb hours after mine went off? In the same bathroom? And why else would they even wait for me to notice them in the smoke instead of running off to get a head start?”

“Well, they did sort of have a head start,” John pointed out lamely, just trying to add to the conversation. The stranger did have a head start in reality. He or she had waited in the door way and was able to slip past the students much easier than he and Sherlock.

Sherlock gave John a look somewhere between _that was completely unnecessary and stupid_ and _that was completely unnecessary and stupid but I’m almost glad you said it._ John didn’t know what to make of it. Sherlock didn’t seem angry that John pointed out something obvious. Maybe a bit annoyed and patronizing, but not angry.

Sherlock stared at him with this look for a long moment before abruptly pushing off the wall. John furrowed his eyebrows and pushed off the wall as well and as Sherlock started to walk away he said abruptly, “Wait! Where are you going? Your dorm is probably being checked for radiation poisoning by now.”

Sherlock stopped and looked at him with a slightly amused expression. He stuck his hands in his pockets and John tried not to follow the action with his eyes. Sherlock looked at him for a moment before saying, “I’m going to go sneak back in and continue working on an experiment.”

John figured it was whatever had been sitting in the bathtub and probably would have been more interested in the experiment if Sherlock hadn’t added, “And my work here is done.”

John tilted his head to the side and repeated, “Your work?” Chasing the stranger? That could have been what he was referring to, but John had hoped Sherlock might stop in for a bit. Maybe they could make some tea and cool down…he was brought back from his thoughts when Sherlock gestured to his leg. John furrowed his eyebrows and followed his gaze before looking back up to the boy.

Sherlock rolled his eyes dramatically, obviously annoyed that John wasn’t following him, and said simply, “Your limp.” As the realization hit John he added, “It’s gone.”

John hadn’t even noticed that his limp hadn’t bothered him as they ran. At all. Usually with rugby he had to be extremely into the game and focused for the limp to go away, but with Sherlock it had disappeared. He turned his gaze back to his leg and after a moment he grinned. He opened his mouth to say something to Sherlock, but when he looked up the boy was already walking away. John stared after him for a long moment before abruptly blurting out, “See you in chemistry!”

He almost regretting saying it, but then Sherlock turned around, his black coat making him look almost terrifying in the dimly lit hallway as he nodded once. He then turned back around and out of the front door. John leaned against the wall again dramatically and had to refuse the urge to jump around in the deserted hallway. That was the most fun night he had ever had. And also one of the most exhausting. After a moment he pushed off the wall and went into his dorm.

The dark dorm room dampened his spirits slightly. His bare walls looking extremely dull compared to the paper covered, odd wallpaper of Sherlock’s. He wondered why Sherlock’s dorm had wall paper on it. He knew that students could decorate their dorms, but putting up wallpaper was probably against the guidelines. _As if Sherlock would care,_ he thought fondly. He sat down on his bed momentarily before he got an idea. He stood up and went over to his desk, opening the drawer. He pulled out a small laptop that he had gotten years ago after saving his birthday money and mowing lawns around town for a month. It wasn’t expensive or fancy, but it got the job done. He turned it on and after fighting with the internet connection for a while, he opened up the blog his therapist suggested he wrote in the browser. He didn’t have any followers or many people reading. His counselor would read it from time to time and once he was forced to show Harry on a dare. He sat for a brief moment before clicking ‘Create New Entry.’ He licked his lip in concentration before typing out: When I first met Sherlock, he told me my life story.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this one is sorta short DX If you guys have any ideas please tell me! Don't be shy <3

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first Unilock fanfic I've published! I hope you enjoyed it so far and please leave comments if you have any suggestions for the story or how I could improve the characterization of John/Sherlock. This story will be written mostly from John's point of view but depending on how I'm feeling it might change to Sherlock's or possibly third person. Not entirely sure yet. I'll try to update regularly (like every 2 days or so at least! Sorry if I get behind, I'll try to stay on task XD)


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